The room was a shrine to death. The walls were adorned with various animals, pictures of successful hunts, et cetera. Michael raised an eyebrow, “Oh, wow. So, uh, you like to hunt, huh?”
“Most honest profession there is,” Mr. Thomas shot back, without turning to Michael. Mr. Thomas eventually settled down into his (definitely real) leather chair and beckoned to Michael with a soft wave.
“Come, sit,” He instructed. Michael just nodded and sat on the only other available seat-- a footstool-- just adjacent the chair.
“Do you drink? Don’t answer that. Of course you don’t drink,” Mr. Thomas eyed the obviously uncomfortable Michael for a moment and smirked.
“Have a drink.”
“No, I’m okay.”
“I insist,” Mr. Thomas said, popping out his chair. He headed toward the other side of the room and behind a cavernous bar. He ran his hand across the old oak bar, like he was sliding his hand down a woman’s back.
“Really, Mr. Thomas, I don’t want anything.”
“Nonsense,” the man said. He turned away toward the endless bottles on the wall and carefully ran his finger over multiple bottles before snatching an old scotch. “You’re a man, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a man. You’re 18. You can die for your country, so you can have a drink. Come over here,” he commanded.
Michael meekly made his way over to the bar and sat on one of the stools-- was it zebra?
“That’s genuine zebra fur right there.”
“Oh, well, they’re very nice,” Michael smiled.
The man pulled two glasses from under the bar and smacked them on the oak, “They’re horseshit is what they,” He said, pouring the scotch. “Cost me two thousand bucks,” he murmured.
Mr. Thomas slid one glass toward Michael.
“Drink.”
The man weakly clinked Michael’s glass and just as quickly as it was poured it was gone.
“Smooth going down, but it gets ya right there at the end,” he said. “A lot like my first marriage.” Michael smiled again.
Michael put his nose to the glass and took a whiff. He began coughing, which caused the man to start to laugh. “Easy there, son. You’re supposed to drink it, not inhale it.”
Michael, reeling from the scotch decided to end it quickly. He held the glass to his lips, tipped it back, and gulped.
Michael could barely hear Mr. Thomas clapped over the searing heat in his head.
“Now that we’ve loosened up a bit,” the man said. “Let’s get down to business.” Mr. Thomas slapped both hands down on the old oak bar and smiled.
“Why should I let you date my daughter?”
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Title Goes Here
"Melissa?"
"Yes, James."
Melissa wore a green dress.
"Lovely dress."
"Oh! Thank you."
She paused.
"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" James asked.
"Um, I don't know yet," she said, nervously.
James wore a blue polo shirt with blue jeans.
"I mean, yes. Your shirt is a lovely shade of blue and those jeans are absolutely perfect for you."
"Thank you very much. I got them on sale just the other day," James said.
In fact, James did not get those clothes on sale-- he paid full price.
"I mean, I paid full price. I certainly wish they were on sale for the money I spent on them," he said, annoyed.
He spent $120 total.
"What? Can I even afford that?"
He could.
"Oh, good," James smiled.
"Well, uh, it all looks great on you," Melissa said, lying through her teeth.
"No, I really think you look sharp," she retorted, but still lying.
"..."
"..."
The two were hungry so they decided to order a meal at the restaurant they were sitting in. Melissa's stomach grumbled.
"Boy, am I hungry," she said.
"Yeah, me... too?" James asked.
James wasn't hungry.
"Oh. I guess I'll just order a beer then," he said.
This particular placed didn't serve alcohol, so James would just have to order a soda. Or water.
"Well, water will have to do, then."
The waiter approached the couple and asked for their order.
"Hello and welcome to...," he paused.
There was a long silence between the three of them.
Denny's.
"Denny's. Welcome to Denny's," the waiter said. "We have a wonderful menu full of, um, whatever it is that you want to eat today. Which would be?"
"I'll have the steak?" Melissa said.
But they were out.
"No. The chicken, please," she said.
"I'm not eating," James said.
The waiter bowed and left the two alone. James had been pinning over Melissa for months and now was his chance to express his true feelings to her.
"Melissa. You are a really great person and I have really strong feelings for you," James said.
"James. You are so swee--"
Melissa hated James.
"Asshole! You are just the absolute worst," she yelled. "This date is over!" Melissa got up from the table to leave, but the date wasn't over so she sat back down.
"When I say it's over! Which is later on," she said.
The waiter returned with the chicken and set it on the table.
"Here you are--"
He left without saying a word.
"Oh, goodbye," he said, apparently not able to follow instructions.
Melissa ate her chicken quickly because of how hungry she was. Food was all over her face and some even landed on the table.
"Geez, Melissa, slow down," James said.
"I really want to, but..." she paused, cramming more food into her mouth. What a pig.
James no longer loved her after seeing her pig out like a little fatty.
"Melissa," he said, standing up from the table. "This date is over and I don't love you anymore."
Fatty.
"Um, fatty."
James left in a huff.
"Oh, uh, bye. Sorry! It was nice meeting you, Melissa," he said.
But it wasn't nice. In fact he pledged to never see her again.
Melissa sat there, bloated and fat and alone.
"oh come on," she said.
"Yes, James."
Melissa wore a green dress.
"Lovely dress."
"Oh! Thank you."
She paused.
"Is there something you'd like to say to me?" James asked.
"Um, I don't know yet," she said, nervously.
James wore a blue polo shirt with blue jeans.
"I mean, yes. Your shirt is a lovely shade of blue and those jeans are absolutely perfect for you."
"Thank you very much. I got them on sale just the other day," James said.
In fact, James did not get those clothes on sale-- he paid full price.
"I mean, I paid full price. I certainly wish they were on sale for the money I spent on them," he said, annoyed.
He spent $120 total.
"What? Can I even afford that?"
He could.
"Oh, good," James smiled.
"Well, uh, it all looks great on you," Melissa said, lying through her teeth.
"No, I really think you look sharp," she retorted, but still lying.
"..."
"..."
The two were hungry so they decided to order a meal at the restaurant they were sitting in. Melissa's stomach grumbled.
"Boy, am I hungry," she said.
"Yeah, me... too?" James asked.
James wasn't hungry.
"Oh. I guess I'll just order a beer then," he said.
This particular placed didn't serve alcohol, so James would just have to order a soda. Or water.
"Well, water will have to do, then."
The waiter approached the couple and asked for their order.
"Hello and welcome to...," he paused.
There was a long silence between the three of them.
Denny's.
"Denny's. Welcome to Denny's," the waiter said. "We have a wonderful menu full of, um, whatever it is that you want to eat today. Which would be?"
"I'll have the steak?" Melissa said.
But they were out.
"No. The chicken, please," she said.
"I'm not eating," James said.
The waiter bowed and left the two alone. James had been pinning over Melissa for months and now was his chance to express his true feelings to her.
"Melissa. You are a really great person and I have really strong feelings for you," James said.
"James. You are so swee--"
Melissa hated James.
"Asshole! You are just the absolute worst," she yelled. "This date is over!" Melissa got up from the table to leave, but the date wasn't over so she sat back down.
"When I say it's over! Which is later on," she said.
The waiter returned with the chicken and set it on the table.
"Here you are--"
He left without saying a word.
"Oh, goodbye," he said, apparently not able to follow instructions.
Melissa ate her chicken quickly because of how hungry she was. Food was all over her face and some even landed on the table.
"Geez, Melissa, slow down," James said.
"I really want to, but..." she paused, cramming more food into her mouth. What a pig.
James no longer loved her after seeing her pig out like a little fatty.
"Melissa," he said, standing up from the table. "This date is over and I don't love you anymore."
Fatty.
"Um, fatty."
James left in a huff.
"Oh, uh, bye. Sorry! It was nice meeting you, Melissa," he said.
But it wasn't nice. In fact he pledged to never see her again.
Melissa sat there, bloated and fat and alone.
"oh come on," she said.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Sunshine
It'd been raining solid for the last several days. The once dry, cracked ground was now swollen with water. I sat on my porch just watching the ebb and flow of the rain, dictated by the wind. Despite the rain and the wind, though, it was nice outside. Wasn't too hot, wasn't too cold. The kind of day you'd have right when spring started, or the onset of autumn. I'm not a coffee kind of person, but I keep some in the cabinet for days like this because it just... feels right.
"Enjoying the view?" Rachel asked. She smiled and sat across me on the porch. She held up a cup, " grabbed some coffee. Hope that's cool."
"Yeah," I said.
"So, I didn't see you at work today and Jeff said you didn't call in."
"Yeah," I said.
She looked at me blankly, waiting for a better answer, or more of an answer-- I don't know.
"That's it? Just 'yeah'," she said.
"Yeah," I thought. "No," I said.
She gently set her cup down on the ledge and pursed her lips in that way everyone does before they get mad. "What the fuck? Everyone thought you were hurt-- or worse! And all you can say is 'yeah' and 'no'? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," I said. I looked at her calmly and meant it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with me.
The wind picked up.
"I think I might move my car into the garage. It's getting crazy out there," I said.
"What?"
"Look, Rachel. Sometimes there isn't something wrong. Sometimes there isn't a reason, and sometimes we do things just because we haven't before, or because we want to-- or don't want to. I didn't go into work today for no other reason than I didn't go into work today," I said.
"Bullshit," she smirked. She grabbed her coffee and took another sip, her mind trying to work me out.
The rain picked up.
"I love you," I said.
It was like she was struck by lightning. Or hit by a car. Or paralyzed through some other violent means that escapes me.
"What?"
I could hear her heart beating from her, or was that my own? "I said I love you."
"Why did you say that?"
"Because sometimes we do things just because we haven't before, or because we want to--"
"Or don't want to..." she said.
The rain stopped.
"Enjoying the view?" Rachel asked. She smiled and sat across me on the porch. She held up a cup, " grabbed some coffee. Hope that's cool."
"Yeah," I said.
"So, I didn't see you at work today and Jeff said you didn't call in."
"Yeah," I said.
She looked at me blankly, waiting for a better answer, or more of an answer-- I don't know.
"That's it? Just 'yeah'," she said.
"Yeah," I thought. "No," I said.
She gently set her cup down on the ledge and pursed her lips in that way everyone does before they get mad. "What the fuck? Everyone thought you were hurt-- or worse! And all you can say is 'yeah' and 'no'? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing," I said. I looked at her calmly and meant it. There was absolutely nothing wrong with me.
The wind picked up.
"I think I might move my car into the garage. It's getting crazy out there," I said.
"What?"
"Look, Rachel. Sometimes there isn't something wrong. Sometimes there isn't a reason, and sometimes we do things just because we haven't before, or because we want to-- or don't want to. I didn't go into work today for no other reason than I didn't go into work today," I said.
"Bullshit," she smirked. She grabbed her coffee and took another sip, her mind trying to work me out.
The rain picked up.
"I love you," I said.
It was like she was struck by lightning. Or hit by a car. Or paralyzed through some other violent means that escapes me.
"What?"
I could hear her heart beating from her, or was that my own? "I said I love you."
"Why did you say that?"
"Because sometimes we do things just because we haven't before, or because we want to--"
"Or don't want to..." she said.
The rain stopped.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Monkey
"Mmm," The Monkey thought. "This is one good piece of fruit."
"Margaret? Honey?"
"Yes, dear?" Margaret said from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway dressed simply in a red apron. She beamed at Monkey. "You're so cute."
"What?" Monkey said, a little bit of fruit hanging from his chin. "What'd I do?"
Margaret approached Monkey, wiped his face clean with a dish rag she had tucked in her apron, and kissed him gently on the check. "You always get food on your face."
"Oh! Sorry," Monkey said.
"What did you need?"
"Where did you get this fruit? It's delicious!"
"From the market, like always," Margaret said. She'd already started back into the kitchen to start on dinner. "I was thinking of doing chicken tonight? Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that sounds great," He said. " What time will it be ready?"
"I was thinking... 8 o'clock?"
"Perfect. Just in time for The Big Bang Theory," He said, excitedly.
Margaret peeked her head from around the corner. "Why do you like that show?"
"What do you mean?"
"I just don't get it. It's nothing but stereotypes and there's a laugh track."
"I don't know. After a hard day at work I guess I just want something mindless, you know?"
"I suppose," Margaret said. "Just seems like all TV is trash nowaways. You should read a book instead."
Monkey shrugged and finished his fruit. After cleaning up he made his way into the living room. Margaret's cell phone beeped, letting her know she received a text message.
"Hey, you got a--" Monkey stopped when he saw the screen. "Mitch? I didn't know they still talked."
Margaret peeked her out from the kitchen again, "You say something?"
"Oh, no, honey. Nothing," Monkey said. He smiled, she smiled and she resumed preparing dinner.
"This doesn't make sense, "Monkey thought. "She hasn't talked to him in years. Why would he..." His blood ran cold.
Mitch was an old flame and even after their relationship ended he never stopped pursuing Margaret. There was even a time when he thought they were having an affair. "Shake it off. This is stupid," his brain told him. But his finger's were already swiping the screen, his gut telling him something different.
"Margie, are we still on for tonight? I haven't heard from you in a couple of days," The text read.
His fingers were already responding, his brain screaming in protest. "Of course.... where?" He texted back.
"Margaret. Bill from the office just called me and said I left some things up there. I'm going to go grab it, okay? Shouldn't take more than an hour," he called out.
"Oh okay. Well, be back by 8, okay?"
Monkey walked into the kitchen and saw his wife giving Mitch a blowjob. She threw her head back, staring at Monkey. "He's so much bigger than you, "she laughed.
"Honey?" Are you okay?" Margaret said. He snapped back to reality, shook his head and smiled. "I'm fine."
"Be careful, okay? I love you," she said.
"I love you too." He said, blankly.
He smiled and walked back into the living room to gather his things. He glanced back at her phone and noticed there was another text. Monkey stared at the screen for a moment before taking note of Mitch's location.
"I can't wait to see you!" the text read.
Monkey deleted the texts from Margaret's phone and grabbed his keys.
"Can't wait to see you, either."
"Margaret? Honey?"
"Yes, dear?" Margaret said from the kitchen. She appeared in the doorway dressed simply in a red apron. She beamed at Monkey. "You're so cute."
"What?" Monkey said, a little bit of fruit hanging from his chin. "What'd I do?"
Margaret approached Monkey, wiped his face clean with a dish rag she had tucked in her apron, and kissed him gently on the check. "You always get food on your face."
"Oh! Sorry," Monkey said.
"What did you need?"
"Where did you get this fruit? It's delicious!"
"From the market, like always," Margaret said. She'd already started back into the kitchen to start on dinner. "I was thinking of doing chicken tonight? Is that okay?"
"Yeah, that sounds great," He said. " What time will it be ready?"
"I was thinking... 8 o'clock?"
"Perfect. Just in time for The Big Bang Theory," He said, excitedly.
Margaret peeked her head from around the corner. "Why do you like that show?"
"What do you mean?"
"I just don't get it. It's nothing but stereotypes and there's a laugh track."
"I don't know. After a hard day at work I guess I just want something mindless, you know?"
"I suppose," Margaret said. "Just seems like all TV is trash nowaways. You should read a book instead."
Monkey shrugged and finished his fruit. After cleaning up he made his way into the living room. Margaret's cell phone beeped, letting her know she received a text message.
"Hey, you got a--" Monkey stopped when he saw the screen. "Mitch? I didn't know they still talked."
Margaret peeked her out from the kitchen again, "You say something?"
"Oh, no, honey. Nothing," Monkey said. He smiled, she smiled and she resumed preparing dinner.
"This doesn't make sense, "Monkey thought. "She hasn't talked to him in years. Why would he..." His blood ran cold.
Mitch was an old flame and even after their relationship ended he never stopped pursuing Margaret. There was even a time when he thought they were having an affair. "Shake it off. This is stupid," his brain told him. But his finger's were already swiping the screen, his gut telling him something different.
"Margie, are we still on for tonight? I haven't heard from you in a couple of days," The text read.
His fingers were already responding, his brain screaming in protest. "Of course.... where?" He texted back.
"Margaret. Bill from the office just called me and said I left some things up there. I'm going to go grab it, okay? Shouldn't take more than an hour," he called out.
"Oh okay. Well, be back by 8, okay?"
Monkey walked into the kitchen and saw his wife giving Mitch a blowjob. She threw her head back, staring at Monkey. "He's so much bigger than you, "she laughed.
"Honey?" Are you okay?" Margaret said. He snapped back to reality, shook his head and smiled. "I'm fine."
"Be careful, okay? I love you," she said.
"I love you too." He said, blankly.
He smiled and walked back into the living room to gather his things. He glanced back at her phone and noticed there was another text. Monkey stared at the screen for a moment before taking note of Mitch's location.
"I can't wait to see you!" the text read.
Monkey deleted the texts from Margaret's phone and grabbed his keys.
"Can't wait to see you, either."
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Et tu, Brute? Part 1
"One, please," Michael said.
The ticket attendant looked at him with cocked eyebrow, "Just the one? Aren't you a little old for the zoo, pal?"
"I'm, uh, meeting my wife and kids here," he blurted.
The attendant glanced at his naked ring finger and nodded his head slowly.
"Right. You're not one of those weird dudes who gets off on animals, are you?"
"What? No! Look, man, I just wanna hang out at the zoo. Is that so weird?"
"Yeah," the attendant said bluntly. "It is."
Michael nabbed the ticket from the man's hand and pushed his way through the turn stall.
Michael had always loved the zoo ever since he was a kid. In college he worked part-time feeding the penguins, but life had taken him down a path away from the zoo.That never stopped from visiting from time to time, though. Whenever he was feeling down, or even when he was happy he'd come pay a visit and just talk to the animals. It was his own sort of therapy-- he took comfort in talking to someone that wasn't going to talk back. Sometimes you're not looking for answers, just a sounding board.
His favorite had always been the tiger enclosure.
Tigers always looked in control. They weren't in captivity; they were on vacation.
Michael headed toward the Tiger enclosure, just like he'd done for the past ten years. Through the gate, past the monkeys, wave to Bernie the Janitor, trade jokes with the parrots, just beyond the polar bears on the left.
"Et tu, Brute?" he said to Brutus, the large Bengal tiger. Brutus arrived at the zoo when Michael was 13 years old. And even now, 14 years later, there he was on the same rock. Like an emperor hoisted above his people. Brutus glanced down at Michael, slowly blinked his eyes and jumped off down the rock.
"My dear boy, you've used that same line for years," Brutus said.
Michael was stunned. He quickly looked around-- maybe someone was messing with him? No. It was just him and Brutus.
"B-Brutus?" Michael asked.
"In the stripes," the tiger responded.
"This can't be real."
"Oh, it's very real, Michael," Brutus said, smiling.
Michael was amazed that the tiger was talking back to him, but even more amazing somehow was his distinct speech.
"The fact that I'm talking to a tiger aside... why do you have an english accent?" Michael asked.
Brutus sat down on his back legs, his tail whipped left to right, "Have you ever considered that maybe the english speak with Tiger accents?"
No, in fact, he hadn't.
"Let me be clear, Michael. This is a rare honor. I'm almost certain I shouldn't even be doing this-- the monkeys will be furious, no doubt," he said.
"Of course they will," Michael said without thinking. "I'm sorry. So, I'm really talking to you right now? No one else can hear you?"
"Anyone can hear me, dear boy, you're just the only person that's ever listened," Brutus said.
"Okay... I'm listening. Now what?"
Brutus stood and sauntered closer to the dividing gate. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye and whiskers bristled as he spoke, "Now, Michael, the fun can begin."
The ticket attendant looked at him with cocked eyebrow, "Just the one? Aren't you a little old for the zoo, pal?"
"I'm, uh, meeting my wife and kids here," he blurted.
The attendant glanced at his naked ring finger and nodded his head slowly.
"Right. You're not one of those weird dudes who gets off on animals, are you?"
"What? No! Look, man, I just wanna hang out at the zoo. Is that so weird?"
"Yeah," the attendant said bluntly. "It is."
Michael nabbed the ticket from the man's hand and pushed his way through the turn stall.
Michael had always loved the zoo ever since he was a kid. In college he worked part-time feeding the penguins, but life had taken him down a path away from the zoo.That never stopped from visiting from time to time, though. Whenever he was feeling down, or even when he was happy he'd come pay a visit and just talk to the animals. It was his own sort of therapy-- he took comfort in talking to someone that wasn't going to talk back. Sometimes you're not looking for answers, just a sounding board.
His favorite had always been the tiger enclosure.
Tigers always looked in control. They weren't in captivity; they were on vacation.
Michael headed toward the Tiger enclosure, just like he'd done for the past ten years. Through the gate, past the monkeys, wave to Bernie the Janitor, trade jokes with the parrots, just beyond the polar bears on the left.
"Et tu, Brute?" he said to Brutus, the large Bengal tiger. Brutus arrived at the zoo when Michael was 13 years old. And even now, 14 years later, there he was on the same rock. Like an emperor hoisted above his people. Brutus glanced down at Michael, slowly blinked his eyes and jumped off down the rock.
"My dear boy, you've used that same line for years," Brutus said.
Michael was stunned. He quickly looked around-- maybe someone was messing with him? No. It was just him and Brutus.
"B-Brutus?" Michael asked.
"In the stripes," the tiger responded.
"This can't be real."
"Oh, it's very real, Michael," Brutus said, smiling.
Michael was amazed that the tiger was talking back to him, but even more amazing somehow was his distinct speech.
"The fact that I'm talking to a tiger aside... why do you have an english accent?" Michael asked.
Brutus sat down on his back legs, his tail whipped left to right, "Have you ever considered that maybe the english speak with Tiger accents?"
No, in fact, he hadn't.
"Let me be clear, Michael. This is a rare honor. I'm almost certain I shouldn't even be doing this-- the monkeys will be furious, no doubt," he said.
"Of course they will," Michael said without thinking. "I'm sorry. So, I'm really talking to you right now? No one else can hear you?"
"Anyone can hear me, dear boy, you're just the only person that's ever listened," Brutus said.
"Okay... I'm listening. Now what?"
Brutus stood and sauntered closer to the dividing gate. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye and whiskers bristled as he spoke, "Now, Michael, the fun can begin."
Random Suggestions
The following story is built around random phrases from suggestions on Facebook...
Ensigns Merrick Analbum and Frank Cover relaxed during the few hours they had off from engineering by sitting at the ship’s bar, waxing philosophic on everything from politics to space travel.
“So, tell me something, Cover,” Analbum said between gulps. “ You’re a man of science, and yet you believe in some sort of saccharine sweet zombie jesus?”
“That’s a gross oversimplification, but yes,” Cover responded, rather proudly. Analbum scoffed and finished the last gulp of his drink. “That’s about as silly as a penis Hitler pirate!”
“Oh, were they the scourge of the high seamens?” Analbum and Cover shared a laugh before ordering another round.
“Yes, but only the circumcised ones,” Analbum said with a wink.
“Seriously, though, “Cover said. “It’s really not that much of a stretch. Science is all around us, and so is God.”
“That’s easy to say when there’s no proof. I could say, ‘Hey in the next room there is a monkey with tits that squirts german space nuts, but he’s shy so he’ll hide if you try and go in there.’ That’s the same logic to me,” Analbum said.
“German space nuts?” Cover laughed. “That’s an extreme example, but I understand what you’re saying. Of course, you’re not going to like what I have to say in return, though,” he said.
“I know, I know. Faith. Everything comes down to faith. Which, again, seems like a cop out to me. What is faith? Faith is hoping you’re not wrong,” Analbum said.
Cover finished his drink and took Analbum’s hand in his. “Merrick, we’ve been friends for how many years?”
“Five. Why are you holding my hand?”
“Just shut up for a minute,” Cover said, gripping his hand tighter. “There are... questions we all have about our existence, about this universe, about what lies beyond,” Cover’s face was dead serious.
“Frank, let go--”
“No, Merrick. It’s time for you to let go,” Cover said. “Just. Let. Go.”
Frank Cover leaned in close toward Merrick, his lips virtually resting on his ear.
“Space ears rape.”
“What?”
“Trash junk stuff,” Cover whispered.
“What the fuck?" Merrick pulled away, but Frank held him by the back of his neck. Merrick tried again to pull away, but Frank’s grip was too strong.
“Merrick. Merrick!” Cover pleaded.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
Frank held Merrick’s face close to his, “Billy Ray Cyrus.”
Merrick froze.
“What... what did you say?”
“Billy Ray Cyrus,” Cover repeated.
Frank released his grip on Merrick’s neck and Merrick slowly fell back into his chair. After a moment Merrick rose, resting one hand on the bar.
Finally, he looked back at an understanding Frank.
“I remember,” Merrick said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I remember everything.”
The two men embraced.
"Welcome home."
Ensigns Merrick Analbum and Frank Cover relaxed during the few hours they had off from engineering by sitting at the ship’s bar, waxing philosophic on everything from politics to space travel.
“So, tell me something, Cover,” Analbum said between gulps. “ You’re a man of science, and yet you believe in some sort of saccharine sweet zombie jesus?”
“That’s a gross oversimplification, but yes,” Cover responded, rather proudly. Analbum scoffed and finished the last gulp of his drink. “That’s about as silly as a penis Hitler pirate!”
“Oh, were they the scourge of the high seamens?” Analbum and Cover shared a laugh before ordering another round.
“Yes, but only the circumcised ones,” Analbum said with a wink.
“Seriously, though, “Cover said. “It’s really not that much of a stretch. Science is all around us, and so is God.”
“That’s easy to say when there’s no proof. I could say, ‘Hey in the next room there is a monkey with tits that squirts german space nuts, but he’s shy so he’ll hide if you try and go in there.’ That’s the same logic to me,” Analbum said.
“German space nuts?” Cover laughed. “That’s an extreme example, but I understand what you’re saying. Of course, you’re not going to like what I have to say in return, though,” he said.
“I know, I know. Faith. Everything comes down to faith. Which, again, seems like a cop out to me. What is faith? Faith is hoping you’re not wrong,” Analbum said.
Cover finished his drink and took Analbum’s hand in his. “Merrick, we’ve been friends for how many years?”
“Five. Why are you holding my hand?”
“Just shut up for a minute,” Cover said, gripping his hand tighter. “There are... questions we all have about our existence, about this universe, about what lies beyond,” Cover’s face was dead serious.
“Frank, let go--”
“No, Merrick. It’s time for you to let go,” Cover said. “Just. Let. Go.”
Frank Cover leaned in close toward Merrick, his lips virtually resting on his ear.
“Space ears rape.”
“What?”
“Trash junk stuff,” Cover whispered.
“What the fuck?" Merrick pulled away, but Frank held him by the back of his neck. Merrick tried again to pull away, but Frank’s grip was too strong.
“Merrick. Merrick!” Cover pleaded.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
Frank held Merrick’s face close to his, “Billy Ray Cyrus.”
Merrick froze.
“What... what did you say?”
“Billy Ray Cyrus,” Cover repeated.
Frank released his grip on Merrick’s neck and Merrick slowly fell back into his chair. After a moment Merrick rose, resting one hand on the bar.
Finally, he looked back at an understanding Frank.
“I remember,” Merrick said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I remember everything.”
The two men embraced.
"Welcome home."
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